


hands on me (why aren't they yours)

by Anonymous



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Curses, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Developing Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, No Non-Con With Geralt, Non-Consensual Touching, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Weird Biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25554568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jaskier buys a ring from a market to add to his collection.What he gets is more than he can handle.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Other(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 122
Collections: Anonymous





	hands on me (why aren't they yours)

Jaskier is drawn into the ring the moment his eyes land on it.

The ruby shines in the sunlight, glistening no matter which way Jaskier moves. The shopkeep smiles at him, hands crossed as they wait for Jaskier to make his decision.

“Jaskier, come on,” Geralt grabs at his arm and Jaskier stumbles away though his eyes remain on the ring. 

They only move over to the next stall however and Jaskier can’t stop looking back. He wants it desperately though he knows he can’t spare coin like that. 

“Leave it be,” Geralt mutters and Jaskier huffs. 

He idles next to Geralt as the witcher negotiates with the merchant over a new bridle for Roach. Jaskier’s legs are restless and he paces to quell his boredom. He doesn’t mean to, but he’s right back in front of the jewelry stand, hands twisting the strap to his lute case. With a glance at Geralt, he waits until Geralt is fully distracted before handling the exchange of coin for ring, shoving the ring into his pocket. 

He shuffles back over to Geralt, who doesn’t seem to have noticed his absence as he and the merchant finally make a deal. The two head back to the inn, silence between them, though it is not unusual. 

Geralt is tired at any rate and Jaskier is preparing himself for his nightly performance. Hand slipping into his pocket, he touches the ring and bites down his smile. He only hopes Geralt won’t notice the new addition with his already ring-covered hand. At any rate, Jaskier thinks he deserves this and they spend a pleasant evening in the village with nothing of interest happening at all. 

I.

Geralt is gone, off hunting for dinner, and Jaskier sits by the fire, strumming his lute. He admires the ring on his finger, the way the firelight bounces off of it. The rest of his jewelry seems rather dull next to the ruby, though he doesn’t dare part with any of it. Each piece has its own story that Jaskier treasures all the same. 

Setting his lute to the side, Jaskier stretches, sparing a glance around for any signs of Geralt. When there are none, he doesn’t let it bother him and lounges by the fire, picking at the ground. As he does so, an itching begins, starting small but soon spreading all over his skin. Jaskier scratches and scratches but nothing stops the itching and he begins taking off his clothes to see what the problem is. When he is bare, there still seems to be no source to the itching and it’s driving him mad. 

As he tries to make it to the nearby river, the skin on his thigh starts to bubble and Jaskier freezes, panic welling in his chest. He watches in horror as a hand forms, reaching out until an arm has connected to it. The hand dives for Jaskier’s crotch and he tries to run, falling onto his back as he stumbles. 

The hand teases his cock and Jaskier tries to push it away, but the hand does not remove itself. Jaskier’s cock begins to harden, a small whimper leaving him as he becomes lost in confusion and a small twinge of pleasure. Now with his cock standing proud and red, Jaskier digs his fingers into the dirt as the hand speeds up its pumping. He shouldn’t find this appealing at all, yet the pleasure the hand drags out of him makes Jaskier realize how long it’s been since he’s had a proper fuck. 

His hips shift in rhythm with the hand, small gasps leaving him until he can no longer hold back and he spills onto the hand and himself. He covers his face with his hands, embarrassed and blissed out at the same time. When he peeks through his fingers, the hand molds back into his body and his skin shows no sign of any unnatural growth. Running to the river, Jaskier washes himself off, his mind racing as he tries to understand what just happened. 

The ruby ring on his finger shimmers at him and Jaskier’s stomach drops. Cursing at himself, Jaskier yanks at the ring only to find it stuck tight to his finger. The panic from before sets in again and Jaskier stands still in the cool water. He should tell Geralt. He needs to. 

Scrambling back to the camp, Jaskier dresses just as Geralt appears through some brambles. He stares at Jaskier before attending to the meat, the meticulous process of skinning. 

Jaskier opens his mouth, but no words come out as a tightness seizes his chest. Waves of embarrassment and regret wash over him and he sits next to the fire, hands clenching into fists. He just has to tell Geralt and this will all be taken care of. 

Except, Jaskier’s not sure it will be. 

There’ll be yelling, reprimanding, and Jaskier would rather not have his mistake rubbed in his face. Each time he gains the courage to tell Geralt, his words shrivel and he slowly begins to shrink into himself. 

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asks, not looking up from his work. 

“Nothing,” Jaskier lies immediately. 

He has to take care of this himself. It’s his own mess and he doesn’t need to get Geralt wrapped up in it. In the next town he’ll find someone who knows just what to do and then all will be well. 

II.

The next town is days away. 

Jaskier has a pit in his stomach but he hides it behind smiles and love ballads. By the time it’s back to setting up a camp, Jaskier excuses himself deeper into the forest and he hopes Geralt does not follow. 

He paces about, tugging at the ring and even going so far as to punch a tree. All it does is send shooting pain up his arm and he hopes he hasn’t broken anything. 

“Come off, you bloody piece of work,” Jaskier curses at the ring. 

The ring merely blinks at him and it’s then Jaskier feels the itching sensation from before. 

“Oh no,” he groans and runs deeper into the forest. 

Before he can make it very far, a hand is wrapped around his cock, coaxing his erection out him. However, there is a new addition, fingers tracing along one of his nipples and pinching it. Bracing himself against a tree, Jaskier bites back his moan and tries to push the hand away. It’s no use and pleasure shoots up his spine as the hands work in tandem. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathes, hips thrusting and back arching into the touch. 

When he comes, Jaskier hides his moan behind his hand and collapses to his knees, frustration building on his mind. The wet spot on his breeches is not easily hidden but he has no choice but to face Geralt in this state. 

At the very least, Geralt doesn’t know about the phantom hands, the curse of the ring. It’s well enough because with the way this is going, Jaskier is sure Geralt will have to cut off his hand to stop this mess.

This thought frightens Jaskier and he clutches his hands close to his chest. If this is what he has to pay in order to keep his hands, then he’ll do what he must. After all, there’s worse ways this could go and Jaskier does find his sexual needs being satisfied in this awful irony. 

With a shaky breath, Jaskier gets to his feet and starts his slow walk back to the camp. Geralt can tease him all he wants about the stain on his breeches as long as he’s none the wiser to the cursed object. 

They have to deal with monsters, this is just a slight hitch. 

Geralt says nothing as Jaskier changes his clothes, but the tension in the air is thick. All it would take is a simple sentence to clear his mind. Jaskier is stubborn, however. Geralt doesn’t need to think about more than his next job and Jaskier is too tired to explain himself. 

He’ll see how the next days go and maybe then he’ll reveal the curse of the ring.

III.

The itching comes on unexpectedly as they’re traveling through the woods, hitting Jaskier like an ocean wave. 

Jaskier yells at Geralt to stop, his body tensing as he half-expects the hands to start touching him right then and there. 

“I need to…,” but before Jaskier can finish, he races into the trees, praying Geralt doesn’t follow. 

Nearly falling down a hill, Jaskier hides himself behind a cluster of bushes and bites down on his knuckles. 

There is a third hand today and Jaskier tips his head back as his chemise is untucked, pushed up to expose his chest. Two hands play with his nipples, squeezing and flicking until Jaskier is a breathless mess. The usual hand protruding from his thigh teases him pulling his breeches down just enough to free his cock. It pumps, steady and rough, but Jaskier doesn’t complain. Gripping onto a nearby tree, Jaskier endures the pleasure wrought on his body until white stripes shoot from his cock, painting the forest floor underneath him. As quickly as they came, the hands disappear and Jaskier is left to rearrange his clothing as if nothing happened. 

Walking back up to the path, Jaskier lets out a sigh of relief to see Geralt tending to Roach. If there is one thing to be said about Geralt, he does let people have their privacy. 

“Got it out of your system?” is all Geralt says, not even taking his eyes off of Roach. 

“Yeah,” Jaskier blushes and starts back on the path to avoid anymore conversation. 

He can hear Geralt following behind him on Roach, an intake of breath, but before Geralt can speak, Jaskier starts playing his lute, a loud, jaunty tune. He needs to think about anything but what just happened, let alone talk about it. 

Yes, he didn’t try to destroy the ring, but his mind had been occupied and now he can’t just try to smash it against a rock with Geralt watching him. 

Even then, that wouldn’t work, Jaskier knows, and he lets his mind search as he plays. There’s always a way to break a curse, but with one so obscure, Jaskier isn’t sure where to start. Perhaps if he just touched himself the ring would fall off. Then again, if all his orgasms haven’t done a thing, he doubts masterbation will. 

He could try to have sex with someone, but the only someone for miles happens to be Geralt. Jaskier has loved Geralt for years and he’s sure Geralt has some admiration for him, but he doesn’t want to ruin it with sex. He doesn’t want what they have to become awkward if those thoughts have never crossed Geralt’s mind. 

It’s crossed Jaskier’s plenty and the guilt creeps up on him. No, if he is to take his relationship with Geralt a step further, he’d rather it be after a night of drinking, the two of them curling up into a bed together. 

Geralt deserves that much. 

With a sigh, Jaskier kicks at the ground as he plucks out a rather discordant tune. It’s then a hand lands on his head and he freezes, slowly turning to look up at Geralt. 

“Something’s wrong, but I won’t force you to say it if you don’t want to,” Geralt begins. “I’m here to help if you need it.”

Jaskier needs so much and he can only nod his head as Geralt urges Roach on. He watches Geralt’s back, wanting to yell out everything from the ring to his own tumultuous feelings. 

Instead, he races to catch up with Geralt and begins a new song, one that sings of hope and triumph. 

He’ll figure this out. He’s sure of it.

IV. 

The past few days have been nothing but torture for Geralt. 

He’s tried to make Jaskier talk, usually such an easy task, but now it’s as if Jaskier has gone silent. Any time they get close, Jaskier backs away, runs off, and Geralt is left with questions. 

Worst of all, he knows there’s something linked to Jaskier. His medallion starts to vibrate, but he can’t get close enough to Jaskier to figure out what is going on. So, he leaves Jaskier to his devices, hopes that giving him space will make him open up in time. 

Geralt finds their dinner easily tonight and he heads back to the camp, resolution heavy on his mind. He wants Jaskier to be happy and they certainly won’t find a way for that to happen if they don’t talk about it. Yes, Geralt doesn’t care much for idle chatter, but when it comes to Jaskier, he’ll move mountains for the man. 

As he approaches the camp, Geralt stills as he hears low moans and stuttered gasps. He groans to himself, knowing he should turn back, to give Jaskier his privacy. However, he’s hungry and Jaskier can satisfy himself later. 

Pushing past the branches, Geralt pauses as his mind goes blank. 

Before him, Jaskier lies on the ground, writhing and thrusting as four limbs protrude from his body. Jaskier’s doublet is still on, but it has been torn open, his chemise pushed up to his armpits. Two hands dance across his chest, squeezing his nipples and Jaskier arches into the touch. Below the waist, his breeches have been pulled down past his knees and a hand pumps his cock with increasing speed. The last hand has three fingers shoved inside Jaskier and it thrusts into him in time with the hand on his cock. 

Jaskier’s eyes are closed, his mouth hangs open as he pleads and moans and Geralt can only watch. Jaskier has hardly any leverage at all, but his fingers dig into the dirt, the rings on his fingers shimmering. It’s then Geralt notices the ruby stone and he snaps into action, marching over to Jaskier and grabbing his hand. 

Jaskier’s eyes fly open, growing wide as coherent thoughts push through his lust-filled mind. 

“Don’t cut off my hand,” Jaskier manages between moans. “Please.”

Geralt reassures Jaskier with a short, “Don’t need to,” and pulls out his silver sword. Holding Jaskier’s hand to the ground, Geralt carefully positions the tip of the sword on top of the ruby and presses down. Black smoke hisses out from the ruby as the gem transforms into a tarnished rock. It falls from Jaskier’s finger before dissolving into dust, leaving no trace of a ring and the hands on Jaskier disappearing instantly. 

The silence is thick and Jaskier has his head turned away though he hasn’t made a move to cover himself. His chest still heaves, his cock stands red and proud, and something twitches inside Geralt. 

“Let me finish myself off in peace. Then we’ll talk,” Jaskier sighs, starting to pull his chemise down. 

In an instant, Geralt stops Jaskier’s movements and is met with blue eyes staring at him, filled with questions. Something feral is growing inside Geralt, he doesn’t want to fight it, but he needs to know that he can go further. 

Jaskier’s eyes darken then and all hesitation disappears as he pulls Geralt closer to him. With a growl, Geralt leans down, sinking his teeth into Jaskier’s neck. The gasp that hits Geralt’s ears goes straight to his cock and he grinds against Jaskier’s bare thigh.

“Geralt,” Jaskier sighs, but anything else is cut off as Geralt drags himself away from Jaskier’s neck to free him of his lower garments. 

Geralt hates that those hands were able to touch Jaskier in ways he’s denied himself for so long. He wants to show Jaskier something more, something better and he exhales a hot, heavy breath onto Jaskier’s cock.

Jaskier throws his head back, hand flying to Geralt’s hair and it’s then Geralt takes Jaskier into his mouth, relishes the cry he pulls from Jaskier. 

With his fingers tracing along Jaskier’s hole, Geralt presses in and finds that Jaskier takes it easily, already having been stretched out by the phantom hand. As Geralt hollows out his cheeks, he thrusts three fingers into Jaskier and has to hold Jaskier’s stuttering hips from choking him. 

“Oh, fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier moans, pressing down on Geralt’s fingers. 

Resuming his sucking on Jaskier’s cock, Geralt moves his fingers around, prodding until he gets another wanton gasp from the man. It’s almost too much, the lust fogging everything in Geralt’s mind except the need to fuck Jaskier. Pulling off Jaskier’s cock, Geralt hastily pulls at the ties on his breeches and frees his cock, lining it up with Jaskier’s hole. 

“Yes, please, please.”

Jaskier is a begging mess, trying to shove himself down on Geralt, but Geralt is stronger and he pushes Jaskier’s knees to his chest. Placing a kiss on one of Jaskier’s calves, Geralt then shoves himself in, a heavy sigh leaving him. The heat is perfect, tight, and he snaps his hips, Jaskier responding with small, needy gasps. 

He could stay like this forever, but that usual need creeps in and Geralt doesn’t stop himself from speeding up, plowing Jaskier into the ground itself. Jaskier reaches out for some, any part of Geralt and Geralt helps him, throwing Jaskier’s legs over his shoulders and bracing his hands on the ground. Jaskier’s grip is tight on his forearms and it spurs Geralt on, his hips precise and harsh. 

“Geralt, I’m so close,” Jaskier gasps, his eyes rolling back. 

“Come for me, Jaskier,” Geralt commands, staring down at the face below him. 

With a cry, Jaskier spills onto his chest, his back a perfect arch. Geralt licks some of the cum off Jaskier’s chest, chasing his own orgasm with a few thrusts. Panting, the men stay as they are for a moment before Geralt rolls off of Jaskier and the two lay next to each other in silence. 

“Did you know?” Jaskier asks at last and Geralt furrows his brows. “About the ring I mean.”

“I sensed...something,” Geralt admitted. “But I wasn’t sure until tonight.”

Jaskier covers his face with his hands and exhales heavily. “What was it doing to me?”

Geralt shrugs as he tucks himself away. “Could’ve been anything, but I wasn’t about to risk finding out. There was a reason I told you not to buy it.”

As gentle as his voice is, Geralt notices the way Jaskier ducks his head and guilt washes over him. Reprimanding is not what Jaskier needs, especially after what has happened.

“Are you mad?” Jaskier’s voice is small as he brings his hands down, still avoiding Geralt’s gze.

“No. Were you expecting me to be?”

Jaskier doesn’t reply. Instead he gets up, removes the last of his clothes, using them to wipe himself off, before he wraps himself in a blanket. 

Sitting up, Geralt watches as Jaskier takes his place back by the fire. The far-off look on Jaskier’s face is too much. It tears at Geralt’s heart and he scoots closer to Jaskier. 

“You can never be mad at someone you love for too long.”

Jaskier’s head is slow to lift and he hesitates to look at Geralt. “What?” he breathes, his eyes growing wide. 

Geralt doesn’t want to repeat himself, but he knows Jaskier needs this confirmation. He manages to wrangle one of Jaskier’s hands from the blanket and laces their fingers together. 

“I don’t want to imagine my life without you. This wasn’t ideal, but if you’ll have me…”

“Geralt,” Jaskier interrupts before throwing himself onto Geralt. “Of course I do. Forever.”

The two share a passionate kiss, sighs mingling as they hold onto each other. When the embrace is broken, Geralt dives back in, but Jaskier stops him with two fingers on Geralt’s lips. 

“I think we should try this again,” Jaskier says, voice low. 

Geralt says nothing, waiting for Jaskier to continue on. 

“Fuck me again. Better than those hands ever could, Geralt.”

With a low rumble, Geralt tackles Jaskier to the ground, light laughter hitting his ears. The night has only begun and Geralt is ready to show Jaskier just what he’s made of.


End file.
